


The Mask

by sapsorrow



Category: Dark Souls II, Dark Souls III
Genre: Gen, M/M, before betrayal, lil bit of angst, loooong time after betrayel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-20 03:15:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19368805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapsorrow/pseuds/sapsorrow
Summary: Pate wants to know what's behind the mask. He's had to do this more than once.





	1. Chapter 1

Pate had long since lost track how many days he and this new companion had been traveling together. It was always his intent not to get attached, for every companion was disposable. Replaceable. However, there was something unique about this stranger. Usually by now he would have learned more about this Creighton. All he knew at the moment was that the man was from Mirrah and that he was hiding something.  
  
...and one other peculiar detail. He never took off the mask.   
  
Normally the treasure hunter would not care about such a thing, but the curiosity only kept building. Why did he not remove it, did it not bother the knight? Pate had asked once before, but Creighton had only grunted in response and ignored him the rest of the evening. Pate rather preferred the more boisterous side of the man who was much too easily excited by the idea of a fight.  
  
One such fight got a bit more dangerous than the last, and no doubt Creighton had gotten too cocky for his own good. Not even Pate had been able to stop the blow in time, the Heide knight slipping past his shield to strike the brute over the head.  
  
Pate had, for a moment, wished it had removed his head, if only to see the face finally that was so religiously hidden. However, Creighton survived, slamming the axe into the knight’s belly and tore it free as they slid to the ground dead. He couldn’t stop staring, however, as Creighton heaved heavily, blue eyes as bright and ferocious as ever despite the deep gash within the mask, no doubt bleeding behind it.  
  
“We should camp here. There is a bonfire,” Pate said finally, breaking the heated silence. Creighton’s head snapped up to look at him after he spoke.  
  
“Wot? Oh...fine. Yeah.” Pate could hear a bit of struggle in those words but did not say anything until Creighton made his way to the bonfire and sat, breathing still a bit labored.  
  


“You should heal,” the treasure hunter offered, taking a close enough seat beside him but careful all the same.   
  
“M’fine. Not gonna waste it on this.”  
  
“But shouldn’t you...” Pate began but Creighton shot him a look as if expecting what he was going to ask.   
  
“The mask stays.” The knight’s voice is firm before he decided to turn over and get some rest. Pate pursed his lips, annoyed and frankly bewildered by this man’s stubbornness. Very well, though. He fought a lot today, and their mark was still ahead of them. He would let him sleep it off.  
  
As Pate watched the flames flicker, he also watched the steady rise and fall of Creighton’s breathing. He was all too aware of the man’s axe still held tightly next to him, so the idea nagging at his head was rather dangerous. Stupid, even. But he  _had_  to know, didn’t he?  
  
He hovered silently over the sleeping figure, heart racing in his chest as he stared at the mask. He knew he had seen it before, but that wasn’t what he was after. Holding in a breath to keep quiet, he reached his hand out tentatively towards it, stopping when he heard Creighton’s breathing change as he shifted some in his sleep. Pate tensed, feeling a small beads of sweat forming at his temples. This was more stressful than any  _adventuring._  
  
Finally, though, he brushed his fingers over the indents of the mask, where so many blows had marked it from countless battles, and eventually trailed over the new one that still stained with blood. Pate swallowed, preparing himself before he found the attachment to remove it. He felt it give against his grip and could feel the blood rushing to his ears. Licking his lips, he watched as the shadows of the bonfire flickered over the man’s now visible face.  
  
Before he could properly react to what had finally been revealed to him, Creighton’s icy blue eyes had shot open to stare back at Pate. He soon found himself pinned onto his back with the curve of the axe at his neck, surprised how fast the knight was able to move after just waking up. Unless...

“You weren’t asleep,” Pate mused, impressed as his eyes narrowed. He did not attempt to move, knowing all too well Creighton would not hesitate to kill. Odd, though, that he was hesitating now. Why wasn’t he dead?  
  
“The fook’s your deal, huh? Wot’s it to ya what I look like?” Creighton demanded, half sneering in his face full of scars that Pate could see every detail of now with how close the man leaned into him. But with him came the blade and he was all too aware of that cold steel biting into his neck.   
  
“The thing about people, Creighton, if my methods haven’t already shown,” Pate tutted. “Is that we hate being told we shouldn’t.”   
  
“Cheeky prick.” Creighton removed the axe, to Pate’s surprise. He slowly sat up, feeling over the small cut that sharp blade had left before studying Creighton once more. “S’nothin to gawk at.” He seemed embarrassed more than anything, which left Pate all the more curious as he tilted his head and reached his hand out to touch the injured cheek, no doubt about to leave another scar left unattended. Creighton hissed at the contact and glared. 

“You’re beautiful.” Pate’s words were met with a growl and he felt his wrist squeezed tightly as he looked away from the scars finally and at the hand forcefully catching him. “I mean it.” There were countless stories hidden behind scars. For whatever reason it left him feeling excited that this new scar was brought on by their partnership. He could be added to those stories, one way or another.   
  
Creighton’s grip slackened if only a little as he studied Pate’s own face, how unusual it was to see those amber eyes so fully blown in excitement. That mild mannered facade was hiding plenty of mysteries of their own. “You’re right fookin’ weird.”  
  
“Mm,” came Pate’s noncommittal response. Creighton’s eyes followed Pate’s tongue as it flicked over those lips of his. There was a new kind of tension in the air they both could feel. Whoever made the first move, it didn’t matter. Lips were pressed hungrily together, both sides lost a bit in the moment. Pate had dropped the mask from his fingers and clung instead to Creighton’s hair, matted and unclean as it was. It didn’t matter. Their panting breaths lingered together as they came up for air, Creighton’s hands lingering around Pate’s neck. A dangerous prospect for the treasure hunter, but fear was far from his mind. “You don’t need to hide from me,” he spoke finally, grinning as Creighton’s hold tightened to be worrisome until he relented and rested his forehead against Pate’s, still breathing heavy. 

A perfect match. 


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing he noticed when he opened his eyes was that the floor was cold. The lights were dim and he could sense people watching him. Struggling to at least sit up from the ground, his eyes finally meet that of a silent goddess cradling a grotesque creature. Even so, she smiled down at him and a voice somewhere else breaks the silence.

"Pate."

He knew that voice. Pate's amber eyes flicked towards the figure slowly approaching him and he instinctively went to reach for his spear -- only to realize he had nothing. "What is going on here?" he demanded finally, finding his voice not nearly as smooth as it should be, like he hadn't used it in centuries. Come to think of it, what was the last thing he remembered? 

Dying. Ah, yes, he was dead. Or should be. Even undeath had its limitations. 

"Shut up," Creighton eventually spoke, grabbing the newly revived treasure hunter by the arm as he pulled him up onto his feet. "You're coming with me."

Pate thought about resisting, his hand coming to his neck as if expecting to find a sensitive scar there to remind him of what happened. Proof that it had. But the fact remained, his murderer was not trying to kill him. In fact, Pate was aware the masked man wouldn't even look at him as he tugged him along. He frowned, brows furrowed in confusion as he kept up, sparing glances at the other people in the room. He counted three, none of which looked familiar. Why were they all in a chapel? Who was this new goddess he somehow felt a connection to? Pate shook his head and eventually pulled back once they had reached the exit. "No. Tell me what is going on, Creighton." Fearful though he was, he still refused to back down. He was never one to let himself stay in the dark.

He was met with an annoyed grunt as Creighton's grip tightened. "Wot's it matter? You're alive, aren't you?"

Pate blinked slowly at that. What was he supposed to take from that response, exactly? Well of course he was alive but that didn't explain the how or why. But he knew he wouldn't get answers like this with people watching, so he relented and nodded quietly, letting Creighton continue to lead him away. Once the two of them reached another room in this enormous cathedral, the treasure hunter almost forgot what was troubling him as he was drawn into the vastness of this place. No doubt it was full to the brim with untold wealth. How had he never seen this in his wanderings through Drangleic? His attention was snapped back to the matter at hand, however, when Creighton let go of his arm.

"How am I here," he asked softly, drawing his gaze back to his former partner. As he waited for an answer, he studied the familiar mask and armament. This was, indeed, the same man. But something was different. The hair that had spilled out from the helmet was not there and he held himself more as if he were tired. 

"Brought you back. Rosaria did anyway. I thought you probably had enough time to think 'bout what you'd done." Creighton gave a bit of a huff at the end, side eyeing Creighton with the same icy blue eyes. Pate met them with further confusion but some of it was starting to piece together. "Don't ask me how it works, she's a goddess. Give her a tongue and she gives you a favor."

"Ah." Pate was silent a moment longer, mulling over the information as he still tenderly brushed his fingers over his throat. Still no sign he had lost his head, more troubling than being brought back to life. Even the scar tissue from the ring could not be found. Rebirth, he supposed. "How far from Drangleic are we? I don't know this place."

"Drangleic's gone," Creighton answered quickly, folding his arms over his chest before looking away. "World's gone bloody mad, smashing into each other. No one's linked the fire yet." 

The realization was finally dawning on him. Pate tried not to panic at the thought, swallowing down a lump in his throat as he stared at Creighton and tried to formulate a response. The world was still ending, but how? Creighton made it sound like it had been a long time since. Could this be a whole other cycle? Impossible. "You - how are you still here? Did she bring you back too?"

The knight shrugged for an answer as if he didn't really care to go into detail. That wasn't what the thief wanted in response. He stepped closer towards him, reaching a hand to touch the mask, brows knitted together in concern. "Why are you still wearing this in front of me?" Had Creighton forgotten? Pate wondered if he could clearly recall the man's face. Death had taken much from Pate, he wondered what years had done to Creighton. 

As if a moment stolen from memory, the knight swiftly caught Pate's wrist before he could snap off the mask. He was silent. Pate could feel the slightest tremble against the grip.

"Please let me see that it's still you." 

The tension between them only lasted a few moments more before Creighton freed Pate and let him remove the mask. While Pate expected to see the familiar thick strands of white to fall over Creighton's face, there was a large lack of it. His skin was marked with familiar and unfamiliar scars, laying across a man's face who had aged with the times. But it was still him. Had the knight feared rejection for such a sight? Pate wondered how much he would have changed had he lived with him all these countless years. He supposed even the undead still suffered the weight of decades. He smiled sadly, disappointed in his own selfishness and cowardice that had led them both to such a state of affairs. But he remembered this, as his thumb traced over the long stretch of scar tissue over the man's nose and cheek, the one that allowed him to see that carefully hidden face. 

"Beautiful."


End file.
